


jealous of the rain that falls upon your skin

by tumemxnques



Category: The 1975 (Band)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Sex, Jealousy, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:26:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28556838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tumemxnques/pseuds/tumemxnques
Summary: george hates being jealous, but he can't help himself after matty disappears with a mysterious stranger...
Relationships: George Daniel/Matthew Healy
Kudos: 7





	jealous of the rain that falls upon your skin

**Author's Note:**

> just a weird, angsty one shot. tried writing more from George's perspective, hope it's alright.

He's still breathing harshly when he comes off stage, his eyes immediately searching for Matty. It's like a habit, a reflex basically by now, but the only thing he catches a glimpse of is the corner of his flower print blouse, then Matty's gone.

Just like that.

George slouches immediately, making his appearance about 2 inches smaller, when the happiness leaves his body. He has been excited to go to the hotel with Matty to share a room, a bed even, smoke at least one spliff and reminisce about the show tonight.

It's been a great show, really, they've given it their all, but all of it slips to the back of George's mind as he thinks of Matty leaving. There has been no hug, no kiss, no pat on the back like usual.

He bites his lip and puts his drum sticks into one of the empty single use coffee cups standing around everywhere behind the stage. He grabs the half empty bottle of wine Matty has left there and takes a generous swig. It tastes like Matty, too.

It tastes like his red, wet lips, his tongue slipping past George's teeth. He winces. He isn't drunk enough, not yet.

When he taps his fingers on Adam's shoulder, his friend flinches visibly. "Jesus, George, you want me to die?" George shook his head. "Just wanted to know if you have an idea where Matty went," he mumbles, _and who with_ , but he keeps that to himself.

Adam just shrugs. "I have no idea, mate. He's usually like your other half, haven't seen him without you in like, what? Ross, help me out here." Ross shrugs, too. "Four weeks? Five?" he suggests and George grinds his teeth. "Thanks, you were no help," he spits out before he turns on his heels and storms away, anger bubbling up inside of him.

He hates being so jealous, but he can't keep himself from imagining the person Matty went with.

Is it a pretty girl? Is he gonna get his dick wet?

No, he would've told George. He would've winked at him at least, motioning for him to join if he'd like. He hasn't.

Is it a guy, then? Some weird man touching Matty in all the wrong places, George feels sick with it. Nobody knows Matty the way he does and he hasn't even needed to fuck him for it.

But still, he doesn't seem to be enough for Matty.

Back in the hotel room he doesn't even bother to take off the sweaty clothes from the performance, he just falls face down on the bed and cries. 

The door opens with a creak that startles George almost to death. He gasps loudly and jumps, turning to lie on his back, ready to get up.

Then he recognizes the mess of hair at the door. "Matty," he breathes out before he can stop himself. "Sorry, sorry," Matty whispers. "Didn't mean to wake you."

He comes closer and George can make out his features in the moonlight coming from the big window in their hotel room. His pupils are dilated and dark, so dark George thinks if he stares into them for too long, they might just swallow him whole.

"You're still in your stage outfit? Jesus, George, let's get you out of these." He crouches down in front of his best friend and pulls his shirt off.

Matty's lips are red and swollen, his neck covered in hickeys. George's skin shimmers white in moonlight, it's unharmed. He feels the jealousy take him over again.

When Matty opens his trousers and pulls them down his thighs, he grabs the back of Matty's head with an unknown force.

It must hurt.

"George, what are you doing?" Matty complains, but George just growls. "If you shagged him, you can suck me off too, can't you?" Matty squeals and hits George's arm, swatting his hand away. "Are you out of your damn mind, George? I'm not a fucking prostitute!"

George knows he's right. "What did he give you in return?" Matty shook his head. "In return for _what_?"

He is actually confused, but George isn't having any of it. He is too drunk to think straight. "Did he fuck you real good, huh? Did he use you to get off, pressed your face into the mattress and fucked your tight little arse for so long after you came until he came as well? Did you cry, whimper like the baby you are? Did it hurt? Huh, Matty, did it hurt?"

His friend doesn't even know what to say. "George, nobody fucked anybody, okay? You're not thinking straight," he settles on and makes a move to pull the jeans down the whole way, but George moves away and pulls them off himself. Matty just sighs.

"Am I supposed to believe you here?" George continues his attack on his best friend. "Did you like it, at least? Was he worth it?"

Silence.

"Was he fucking worth breaking my fucking heart, Matthew?" George screams at him, tears bursting out of him in an instant. Matty looks up at George crying on the bed, staring down at him.

It breaks his heart.

"Georgie, hey," he whispers and goes to wrap his arms around him, but George pushes him away. "You smell like him, too."

Matty scoffs. "I smell like you, dickhead, I am wearing your jean jacket. It smells like your aftershave, George. There's no scent from another man on there. Just you and me. Like it's always been."

George shakes his head, wiping away his tears, only for them to be replaced by a thousand more a second later. "I can see the hickeys on your skin, Matty. You bruise so easily, fuck."

He knows because he's made a little game out of sucking hickeys somewhere onto Matty's skin so Matty had to hide them. If he failed, people would ask about it.

He misses giving Matty hickeys, he really did. They haven't been just hickeys, they were love bites. Bruises showing the world how much he loves Matty. Bruises showing them that they belong together.

Now another man's hickeys adorn Matty's soft body and George wants to scream.

"He gave you coke, didn't he? He gave you crack and in return you spread your legs for him like a whore."

Matty gasps and stumbles back as if George has hit him. "What?" he whispers and George just scoffs. "You heard me right the first time. You opened your legs for a little bit of cocaine."

Matty shook his head. "So now I'm just a crackwhore to you, nothing more, yes?" he asks and looks at George, searching his face for anything that might indicate that George doesn't really think that about him. He couldn't live with that.

That's where George breaks. "God, no Matty, I didn't say that."

Matty nods. "But that's what you thought. I don't even know why you care anyway. It's my business who I fuck, not yours." George feels empty.

"Tell me why," Matty demands but George shakes his head like a petulant child. "G," he whispers and crouches down in front of his best friend again.

This time, George doesn't push him away. Softly, he squeezes his thigh and nudges them apart carefully, resting his head against one of George's knees. "I didn't have sex with him, George," he breathes tenderly. "He wanted to. I said no. He didn't give me crack, either. We just drank some more wine. I didn't do any coke, George. I didn't fuck him."

George keeps on staring at the wall next to him, so Matty climbs into his lap and turns his face to look at him. "Georgie. Why do you care so much?"

A heartbreaking sob escapes George's throat.

"Because I'm in love with you," he cries quietly and Matty's eyes widen.

His best friend is in love with him. He hasn't even considered that up until now. He feels stupid for being so reckless, sneaking off with random people all the time. It needs to stop. For George. He hasn't meant to hurt him. 

"Fuck," he then says and carefully pulls George's head into his chest. George is crying harder than before, knowing that Matty doesn't feel the same.

"I'm sorry, George," he mumbles into his friend's hair. It smells like smoke and sweat and freshly washed sheets. "But I didn't fuck him. I didn't."

Somehow it's not comforting to George at all, even if it should be. He just sobs into Matty's chest, tears running down his chest tattoo, his abs and hitting the waistband of his boxers.

And Matty holds him.

He holds him and rocks them back and forth, silently crying as well. _This is fucked up_ , he thinks. But they can't change anything, so they sit there until Matty pulls them into a lying position on the bed, wrapping his arms around George again.

He holds him and wishes he could take the pain from his best friend, but he can't.

So they lie there, together, as close as possible but still worlds apart.

And it hurts.

It hurts so much Matty wants to scream, because _why_?

George falls asleep in Matty's arms, thinking about the man sucking hickeys onto Matty's skin.

Matty hasn't even told him his name. 


End file.
